


In Memory Of Sleep

by MarlinspikeHall



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Forehead Kisses, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Shirt Porn, Shirtless, Short One Shot, Surprise Kissing, Tickle Fights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 11:09:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17445794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarlinspikeHall/pseuds/MarlinspikeHall
Summary: Haddotin headcannons to make you smile, freeform one shots.





	In Memory Of Sleep

i

Tintin talks in his sleep. He's not quite an insomniac, but he's cursed with a mind that refuses to switch off, no matter how exhausted he is. When Haddock rises from the bed, Tintin stirs, and it's impossible to tell if he's awake or not.

"Captain?" He murmurs, face half-hidden by the pillow. He's pressed into it by a tangled arm, skewed at an angle, and it interferes with his hair. The Captain takes in the sight for a moment, and ducks back down to kiss his forehead softly.

"I'll be back," he whispers.

Tintin sleeps differently when he's alone. He wakes up like a log, arms straight, by his side, sometimes paralysed by the excess weight of his own head. Sleep paralysis prevents the dreamer from injuring themselves, and, with dreams as troubled as Tintin's, it's a necessary precaution. But waking up to a body that's frozen against your will is terrifying, and it's the Captain who provides remedy for this.

The first time he saw Tintin lying there, unusually still, breath wheezing as it caught in his throat, he recognised the symptoms instantly. Sailors he'd travelled with had experienced it before. They sometimes reported seeing strange figures and demons standing over them, which Haddock would have dismissed as the drink talking if it wasn't for the fact that he knew drink better than anyone else on board. Eventually, one of the more learned men had suggested it was a result of Narcolepsy.

He'd only come in for a moment, but he ended up shaking him awake, his hand gently squeezing life back into Tintin's until he responded, gasping, and threw himself into the Captain's arms. Since then, he'd always made it a point to share a tent when they travelled together, to keep an eye on him.

ii

Once the Captain began sleeping beside him, Tintin found himself experiencing more restful sleep, but with no less usual side effects. This was one of the reasons he began to murmur in his sleep. He would reach out for the Captain, and it wasn't entirely unusual to find himself pushed out of bed by Tintin's clumsy limbs, splayed out as he was.

  Even while unconscious, he seemed to want to share everything with the Captain, and occasionally let loose a stream of chatter that narrated his dreams. Usually it was pure nonsense, but there was one occasion where he murmured "I love you," and Haddock's heart had shattered. It was to first time he'd heard him say it, and he'd whispered it back, prompting a sleepy "hmm?" from the reporter.

  "Shh," Haddock nuzzled him. "I love you," he repeated, elated, and Tintin's eyes snapped open.

  "Captain-"

  They embraced.

iii

A hand scrunches pleasingly into soft fabric. The plain shirts Tintin favours are fun to twist your fingers into, and the Captain takes every opportunity to do so. When they kiss, he places his hand flat against his chest, and displaces the fabric roughly. Startled moans escape Tintin's lips as he kisses his neck, and he leans over him on all fours.

Tintin isn't one to have a fondness for rough fabric; instead choosing to slide his hands under the Captain's shirt whenever possible. There's a deep laugh when he does so, followed by a warning glare. The Captain is exceptionally ticklish.

iv

There's a certain beauty to the study at Marlinspike that demonstrates the fragile balance between its occupants. In one corner (which is, by no incident, the most tidy) sits Tintin's writing desk, set up with a type writer and as assortment of fountain pens. Papers and documents are piled up, but it's a poor-kept secret that Tintin's relative disorganisation doesn't stretch far beyond that. The best he can do is confine it all to that space, or the filing cabinet.

Calculus' mess is mostly found in his laboratory, but he squirrels away his trophies and statues in the study. Haddock suggested getting a display cabinet, but the professor hand waved it away- that is, assuming he even understood the Captain's offer.

Haddock's clutter is hard to define. It manifests itself in the sailing paraphernalia that's scattered around the room, such as the sextant that lies on the desk, or the globe, skewed at an angle in the corner. 

The rest of the room is filled with crates and boxes, accumulated clutter which was never transferred to the basement, and has now acquired a thin layer of dust. A permanent fixture.

Equally permanent is the first aid kit.

"I'm fine," Tintin lies, suspecting immediately where the Captain is heading to.

"Blistering bar- will you sit?" Haddock pushes him back into the chair, and vacates the room briefly.

It's a small cut, so he wonders why it's sprouting so much blood. Tintin had been picking up glass with his bare hands- a bad habit of his which the Captain had always warned him about- and it had finally chosen to bite him. Tintin had seemed amused at the sight, staring at his hand with a macabre delight, and Haddock grabbed at his palm fussily, herding him into the living room like an invalid.

"Did you think you were immune to glass?" Haddock grits his teeth, but his voice bears some passing resemblance to teasing.

  "I told you; it's never cut me before now," Tintin says, dazed. He gives the Captain a sheepish smile, and rests his head against his shoulder while he applies a bandage.

  "Hmmph. Be more careful."

Tintin pauses only to look into those dark eyes. Then, he leans in, and kisses him.

"I will," he says, with a sly smile.

**Author's Note:**

> I think the earliest one shots about sleep deprivation would make for a lovely longer fic, if I don't get round to it myself and any of it inspires you, feel free to use it!


End file.
